


My Blood is Silver, My Heart is Yours

by K_Popsicle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Forced to Rape Each Other, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love, Misunderstandings, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Sibling Incest, Twincest, genuine affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24978649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Popsicle/pseuds/K_Popsicle
Summary: Under the control of Strucker before joining the Avengers, Pietro and Wanda do what they have must to survive.
Relationships: Pietro Maximoff/Wanda Maximoff
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52
Collections: Pregnancy Flash 2020





	My Blood is Silver, My Heart is Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VampirePaladin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampirePaladin/gifts).



It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since the experiments started, not just a voice through a wall, and Peitro wraps himself around his sister and holds tight. Crushed against his chest Wanda clings just as fiercely.

“You’re okay,” he assures them both, “I’ve got you, little sister.”

“Whose little?” Her voice cracks like maybe she’s crying and he turns her, arms tightening and shielding her with the breadth on his shoulders from the cameras watching them.

“They’ll let us out soon,” he promises.

Her fingers dig into his back like claws and he curls himself around her more throughly desperate to protect her from this as well. She leans up to his ear, body shifting against his frame until her lips are against his ears, then behind the curtain of her hair she says, “We don’t let them separate us again, no matter what.”

“I assure you,” Strucker announces over the loud speaker, “we have no intention of seperating you, quite the opposite in fact.”

They settle into the Avengers Compound with the cautious air of intruders waiting to be kicked out. The sanitised perfection of the world around them sets Wanda on edge, afraid of what will happen if they kick her out and Pietro decides to stay. He blends in with the crowd, jokes and ribs at the older Avengers until they smile fondly or roll their eyes in exasperation. Around her they mostly flinch, except the ones who are used to monster, but they keep their eye on her when she’s too near.

She wants to crawl into Peitro’s bed and hide like they did as children when terrors shook the night air, but now it feels tainted, ruined. To touch him. To dirty him the way she does this perfect fake world.

When Captain America knocks on her door looking normal and human in jeans and a t-shirt and says, “You up for a mission?” she throws herself at the oportunity ignoring the way his eyes sweep the bare walls of her room but appreciating that he says nothing.

When she comes back exhusted Pietro’s laying on her bed in a shirt that clings to his every muscle and she hesitates at the door. But he’s fast, of course, and before she’s decided what she wants to do he’s ducked behind her and is gently herding her towards her bed.

“I’m fine,” she says, exasperated.

“But you’re tired,” he insisits, manuvering her onto the mattress with sure hands. She’s freshly showered in a generic grey tracksuit with a sharp little A in the top left corner so she follows his lead and sinks onto the luxurious surface.

“You’re not angry I went without you,” she observes, as he pulls one shoe off her foot and then the other. Holding her left foot he sends her a quick smirk that softens when he notices the worry in her eyes.

“They take us on little baby missions. Testing us.” He rubs his thumb along the arch of her foot, and her body sparks and sags, eyes sliding closed. He does it again harder this time. “If something goes wrong I’ll be there faster than you can call.” She looks down the length of her body to catch his earnest expression. His hands are still on her, but there’s heat in his eyes she wasn’t expecting, isn’t prepared for. Her breath catches on the memory of him on her, in her, dirty walls and cameras, and he lets her go as if burnt. He’s eyes are on the exit, but even with how fast he is, he doesn’t leave her.

“I’m late,” she confesses to keep him there. He doesn’t need an explenation though, because her twin brother can’t have it far from his mind either. All of their intereactions are frought with it now. She isn’t sure what she expects of him, escape, fear, horror? Instead he moves up to her side, resting lightly on the edge of her bed, and his hand cautiously lowers to the flat swell of her belly.

He wets his lips, but looks at her not where his hand settles on her, “Is this, okay?” The question could mean any number of things.

She curles her fingers over his, holds him there and promises, “Everything with you is okay.”

He kisses her, a genuine smile curving his lips. It’s chaste, a peak, but it’s more than she could have hoped for.

“I need tests,” she tells him, “I don’t trust-“ but she doesn’t have to finish, because he kisses her hand and disappears, leaving her berefit for the heartbeats it takes for him to return. He’s carrying more than she asked for, like he’s raided a pharmacy and pottery barn all at once.

“Your room is _empty_ ,” he explains, and throws a pillow at her that she catches on instinct. They spend an hour decorating and for the first time in weeks he’s with her. Every touch, every smile, ever joke belongs to her. Not the strangers who walk these corridors. She relishes having her brother back.

Wanda takes a sword through her shoulder in the middle of Arizona a few weeks later. Peitro’s half way across the city when he feels the spike of panicked pain and abandons Clint and Sam. He’s there before she hits the ground catching her in his arms and getting her out of the way. There are six men closing in on where she’d been standing, blood on one of their swords. Pietro gentles her onto the ground ignoring the men approching, rips his sleeve off, and presses her hand over the balled up material to stem the flow of her blood. “Hold on,” he instructs, and she nods and takes over so he can deal her attackers.

He’s indiscriminate and it takes so little effort to break bones, incapacitate, and drive their own swords into fragile human skin. He strikes the man with her blood on his sword as many times as it takes for him to stop moving, and then he’s back at her side. “Hold on,” he says one more time before he gathers her up carefully and gets her to the quinn jet and the emergency med kit.

He patches her focrcing himself to be slower than he wants to be so he doesn't injure her further, but the fight’s still going on across the city and his priority is her but they can’t get her out of there until the threat’s been dealt with. He calls it in, hesitates as the bandages on her shoulder start to colour with blood and he presses a hard kiss against her lips desperate. “I’ll be fast,” he promises.

“You’d better be,” her lips rise in their own twitch of a smile and he _runs_.

“You’ve been holding out on us,” Sam says conversationally from his pearch against the wall in the waiting room. Pietro doesn’t reply, leg tapping impatiently and eyes fixed on the doors the doctor had closed between them when she’d realised all the Avengers were going to try and follow into the operating room.

“I think that’s a good thing,” Clint replies frankly, there’s blood on him just like the others, very little of it is his.

“Good or not,” Steve interupts, “we got out of there quicker for it. Good work, Pietro.”

“I’m pretty sure he ripped someones arm off,” Clint states, there’s no heat to it, just surprise.

“With enough speed and force,” Peitro explains distracted, “it’s not hard to rip a human to pieces.” He blinks, realises he’s spoken allowed and adds, “besides, he had a machine gun.”

The others don’t immediately reply, and the awkward silence doesn’t disapate even when Steve says, “We’ll talk about control later.”

The doctor’s arrival stops all conversation, and she looks a bit confused about who to address until Pietro pushes himself in front of them all and waits for the verdict. Wanda had been sheet white and unconcious when he’d gotten back to her and only Sam taking over with his patient proficency had allowed him to stand back and wait while Clint got them out of there.

“We had to give her several transfusions but she’s stablised and out of danger,” she explains.

“And our baby is okay?” He has to ask even though the men behind him go deathly still. He realises the slip, the implications, but it never occurred to him to call it anything else.

The doctor pauses as well before she recovers enough to nod, “The babies are both fine, but knowing about them _before_ we started our scans could have made a vital difference.”

“Can I see her?” He asks, ignoring the reprimand.

“Yes but-“

He doesn’t care what else she has to say, and when he reaches her side Wanda’s groggy but awake.

“There you are,” she breathes, and he clings to her hand as she slips under again, unwilling to move for anyone or anything besides her.

Wanda realises the Avengers have adopted a pattern of interference two weeks later whe the curve of her belly is showing and she hasn’t had a single moment to herself. Firstly, the medical staff, then after that one of the world savers always seemed to be in the room with her even when it seemed entirely impracticle. It wasn’t until she was well enough to escape to her own room and Pietro was suddenly dragged away on a mission that she put two and two together.

Because they know, of course they do, and they’ve made their own assumptions. 

She goes hunting but all of the avengers are missing except for Natasha and Wanda recognises another trap when it’s laid out for her to see.

“I’m not a child,” she warns the Black Widow angrily.

“No, but it’s not only children who need protecting,” Natasha doesn’t look at her, feet up on the couch as if she has nowhere else to go.

“He didn’t-” Wanda flinches before she can say the words. “My brother would never hurt me,” she says fiercely.

Natasha flicks channels on the tv as if the conversation is only worth a part of her attention. “Rape doesn’t always hurt.”

“No!” Wanda lashes out with her power, smashes the tv screen and cracks the bullet proof glass wall.

Natasha looks at her but doesn’t move. Carefully, knowing the danger she’s in, she says, “Sometimes they like to make you enjoy it.”

Something else cracks, future moves, and Wanda stares into this other woman’s eyes. There’s anger there, she can see it, but unlike her own it’s banked under layers of control and it’s for her. This woman is trying to protect her. It is the only thing that stills her hands.

“When they made him-“ she explains desperate, then chokes on those words as well. Natasha turns to face her, feet setting on the ground and doesn’t interupt. Wanda swallows down the fear choking at her. “When they made us. We didn’t want to, _he_ didn’t want to, but if we hadn’t-“ she forces herself to breathe and says what’s more important, “If you think seperating us will do anything but chase us away from here, you know nothing about us.”

“Alright, I can read a room,” Natasha taps her finger against the coffee table, looking up at Wanda assessingly, “but I have to ask,” she continues, “is it going to happen again?” Whatever ever she sees on Wanda’s face makes the anger ease completely from her own. “I’ll get the boys to back off,” she promises, “but it occures to me we’re overdue for a girlsnight, so we’re going to find a working tv and watch the Fast and the Furious and criticise the unrealitic explosions.”

Wanda thinks that sounds… good.

The Avengers back off, but they still look at them both out of the corner of their eyes. Natasha becomes a guardian angel Wanda wasn’t expecting, smacking anyone she catches doing it before focusing all her attention on distracting Wanda. But all the same Pietro puts distance between them. She knew to expect it, knows it’s for the best, but it still twists the sinews of her heart whenever he smiles at her before catching himself and crushing the expression.

Still when the Avengers are away she decides it’s gone on too long and says, “I want sarmale.”

He disapears faster than she can blink, always so ready to get her whatever she asks for, and she retreats to her room to wait for him to return. It’s easy, so easy, and also terrifying to ruck her dress up over her head, slide out of her underware and bra, slip into bed and pull a cool sheet across her naked skin.

She breathes through the stress thruming through her, about the risks she’s taking. She’s terrified he’ll say no, terrified he’ll back away horrified, terrified he’ll take one look at her and be repulsed. Her belly’s round now, small stretch marks marring her skin, and she’s not what he saw last time- the only time.

“I got cighiri as well, in case you want-“ He’s in the room talking before he even looks at her but he stops when he does look. He looks at her bared ankle, eyes tracing her leg up to where it disappears under the sheet, then his eyes travel further, over the slight the curve of her belly, her breasts, her bared shoulders, and then meets her eyes. “What’s going on?” He asks cautiously.

“What do you think’s going on, little brother?” She says breathless under his scrutany.

The door’s closed and locked, the food set down on her table in a flash of motion, but he doesn't approach. He stands where he’d been, hands flexing as he devourers the image of her. “I think I don’t want to assume anything.”

“I miss you,” she pleads, shifting under the sheet and it slips lower on her chest. “Everyday when you don’t look at me, when you don’t touch me. I miss you.”

He moves like a breeze, but instead of taking her apart he fixes the sheet, resettles it so he can’t see the curve of her breasts and she feels her insides crysalise.

“I’ll look at you,” he promises, hand on the bed beside her, expression earnest, “I’ll touch you. But you don’t have to do this.”

He’s so close she can see the shine in his eyes, like he’s a step away from crying, and the muslces in her stomach ease, the clench of her heart softens. She loops her fingers around his thick wrist and reaches up with her other hand to clasp the back of his neck. Her body lifts with the motion, the sheet falling to her lap, but she can’t be nervous, not when Pietro is nervous enough for both of them. “Of course I don’t,” she pulls him close and he lowers towards her, “but some things,” she whispers into the hot air between them, “I _want_ to do.”

He looks frantically between her eyes, hope, desire, caution all waring there. She takes his hand and settles it on her breast squeezing the fingers into the soft give of skin, and his eyes look down drawn magnetically to the intimate contact. She pulls him back down onto the bed with her, sprawling out below him. “Show me everything you want to do to me, brother. You can have anything, you already have everything.”

Whether it’s her words, of the way her body presses against him Wanda can’t be sure, but her brother makes his decision. The hesitation falls away from him and she shudders under his every attention.

When Pietro sleeps late that night she cradles the curve of her belly, and she swears she’ll destory anything that ever tries to keep her family apart.

The Avengers don’t say anything when her brother moves into her room perminantly, and the side eyes stop altogether. Wanda doesn’t care, because everytime her brother pushes into her he burns away the memory of their first time together and they build something bigger, better. Something that’s pure love. Pure loyalty. Pure family.


End file.
